"It is most mysterious," he declared; "that face is almost smiling! it is the face of a happy woman. Clearly, she did not know of her approaching fate." "The blow was struck from behind," informed Dr. Moore. "Even so, why didn't she see the approach of the assailant in the mirror? She is looking straight into the large glass,--must have been looking in it at the moment of her death. _Why_ receive that death blow without a tremor of fear or even a glance of startled inquiry?" Inspector Brunt stood by, gravely, and for the most part silently, watching and listening. "That might imply," he said, slowly, "that if she did see the assailant, it was some one she knew, and of whom she had no fear." Gray Haviland looked up suddenly. A deep red spread over his face and then, seeing himself narrowly watched by the detectives present, he set his lips firmly together and said no word. Pauline turned white and trembled, but she too said nothing. "Why is she sitting in this large easy chair?" went on the Coroner; "Is it not customary for ladies at their dressing tables to use a light side-chair?" This showed decidedly astute perception, and the Inspector looked interestedly at the chair in question, which he had not especially noticed before. Being tacitly appealed to by the Coroner's inquiring eyes, Pauline replied: "It is true that my aunt usually sat at her dressing-table in a small chair,--that one, in fact," and she pointed to a dainty chair of gilded cane. "I have no idea why she should choose the heavy, cushioned one." "It would seem," the Coroner mused, "as if she might have sat down there to admire the effect of her belongings rather than to arrange her hair or toilette." Absorbedly, all present watched Coroner Scofield's movements. It was true, the quietly reposeful attitude of the still figure leaning back against the brocaded upholstery, and so evidently looking in the great gold-framed mirror, was that of one admiring or criticising her own appearance. Added to this, the fact of her bizarre costume and strange adornments, it seemed certain that Miss Carrington had come to her death while innocently happy in the feminine employment of dressing up in the elaborate finery that she loved. But the snake! Carefully Coroner Scofield removed the inexplicable thing. He held it up that all might see. A Japanese paper snake, a cheap toy, such as is found together with fans and lanterns in the Oriental department of large shops. "Could this have been placed round her neck after death?" Scofield inquired of the doctors. The two physicians agreed, that though that was possible, yet the appearance of the flesh beneath it seemed to indicate its having encircled the throat during life. "Never!" cried Pauline, excitedly. "Aunt Lucy _couldn't_ have sat there and _smiled_, with a snake anywhere near her!"